Chapter 7
Fred
I take in her expression, my hands trembling slightly as I look at her plush lips. “I have always wanted to quote verses from the Songs of Solomon to you.”
She lets out another small laugh, her eyes crinkling. “Go on, Fred the anointed.”
We both smile at the old nickname, the humor softening the sharp edge of the tension.
But before she can even finish the laughter, I lean down and capture her mouth.
The kiss is deep, but midway through the contact, a sudden jolt of panic strikes my mind.
What if after this night, she runs away anyway?
The old terror makes me go entirely still in my tracks, my lips freezing against hers.
She notices the sudden rigidity immediately. She pulls back an inch, her brow furrowing. “What?”
“What if you leave?” I ask, the words small and broken in the quiet parlour.
“I won’t.”
I shut my eyes tightly, the cold grip of fear causing my body to stand still under the ceiling light. “But what if you leave anyway?”
“Look at me, Fred.”
I shake my head against the pillows of my own thoughts, refusing to open my eyes.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, I force my eyelids open. The raw, unfiltered emotion sitting in her green eyes strips away the last of my excuses.
“I know just telling you that I love you isn’t enough,” she says, her voice steady and fierce.
“I know. But I do love you. Trust me, I do. Even if I were to leave you tomorrow, wouldn't you prefer you had touched me the way you’ve always wanted tonight? Right now, your head is telling you I am pretending to love you, but I am not. My entire body aches for your touch.”
I stand my ground, letting her finish the sentence, wanting to hear the exact depth of where she is willing to take me.
“What I am saying is this,” she whispers, her gaze pinning me to the spot. “Try me and see.”
Before I can respond, she steps up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms firmly around my neck.
She jumps slightly, her legs wrapping securely around my waist as she buries her mouth against mine.
I drown in the kiss. Her hands turn restless, her fingers tangling deep into my hair as her lips devour every lingering drop of fear from my mind.
In that exact moment, the panic disappears entirely, replaced by the vivid, lustrous details of the woman in my arms—her near-white blonde hair, her green eyes, the plushness of her mouth, and the smooth warmth of her skin.
I pause, and for the first time in three years, I slide my palms down, placing them firmly underneath her buttocks to support her weight. She lets out a sharp, surprised yelp against my mouth, her lips curving into a wide smile as she pulls back to look at my face.
The happiness in her smile gives me the strength to push past the final wall. I carry her across the room, pushing open the bedroom door. I lower her legs until her feet are standing flat on the floor, and I tell her to wait.
I walk over to my side of the wardrobe, my fingers searching through the dark shelves until they lock onto a small, wooden box.
Inside are the scraps of paper where I used to write down the scriptural verses that made me think of her, lines I would practice telling her in the mirror before recoiling in disgust as my scar stared back at me in the glass.
I had always thought that if she ever got tired of the distance and decided to leave, I would hand her this box to read so she would know the truth.
I open the lid, revealing the few folded pages lying inside.
“I used to read the book of Songs of Solomon,” I tell her, my voice shaking as I lift the papers out. “I would practice the words in the mirror, wanting to tell you. But then I would look down, and the wound would spread open in front of me, and I would put them back in the dark.”
She smiles, her green eyes tracking my trembling fingers. “I don’t know if this would help, Fredrick, but you are a beautiful man. I don’t know why you would ever think otherwise. You became a constant temptation for me, because I would always think of you and be unable to have you.”
Every old habit tells me to reject the compliment, but looking at the raw sincerity in her eyes, I cannot lie to myself anymore. Her gaze is proof enough. She walks up to the edge of the mattress, and I pull her into a long, deep kiss, extending the contact until our breaths are spent.
When I finally pull back, I guide her down onto the sheets, my hands still shaking with a mixture of desire and lingering nerves.
“Go on,” she whispers, her fingers pressing against my shoulders as she lays back against the pillows. “Push me.”
I look down at the pages in my hand, my voice rough as I begin to read the lines I memorized in the dark.
“Song of Solomon four, verses ten and eleven. How fair is your love, my sister, my spouse! How much better than wine is your love, and the scent of your perfumes than all spices! Your lips, O my spouse, drip as the honeycomb; honey and milk are under your tongue; and the fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon.”
I look up from the page to find her staring at me in a dreamy, heavy way—an expression of pure adoration that I still don't feel I deserve.
“Turn your eyes away from me, for they have overcome me,” I read, the text reflecting the exact spell she has cast over the room.
“What?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.
A genuine laugh escapes my throat. “It’s a part of the verse.”
She nods with a soft smile, and we both let out a low chuckle, the shared humor breaking the last of the silence. I set the papers on the nightstand, my focus settling entirely on her bare form.
“I’m afraid,” I confess, looking right into her green eyes. “But I guess I will trust through the fear. Because I am tired of living in the dark.”
I close my eyes, taking one long, steady breath in and out, and then I lean down.
“I want to kiss you.”
My mouth finds hers again, my tongue sliding deliberately in and out of her mouth, deepening the contact as her arms lock around my shoulders to pull me closer.
The courage comes from nowhere—perhaps from the glazed, lustful look in her eyes as she stares at my marred skin without a single trace of disgust.
“I want to hold your breast.”
I cup the fullness of her breast immediately, my palm registering the heat of her skin. I watch her face as her eyelids slowly shut, a low, unguarded moan tearing from her throat.
“I want to feel the hardness of your nipples.”
I roll the tight tips of her nipples between my thumb and index finger, watching her expression change in the dim light. Her shoulders shake, her head tossing back against the sheets as her eyes close completely under the sudden surge of pleasure.
“I want to kiss you again, and swallow your moans.”
I lean down, capturing her mouth to trap the soft sounds inside her throat as we move together.
Midway through the movement, her hand slides down my torso, her fingers brushing directly against the deep crater on the left side of my abdomen.
My muscles flinch, the old instinct screaming at me to hide, but I force my body to stay. I dare myself to look at her face.
“I want to make love to you while you look at me,” I whisper against her lips.
She gives a firm, desperate nod, her hands pulling my shoulders down, bringing me impossibly close until there is no space left between our bodies. Her lips capture mine in a fierce, hungry rhythm as she pulls me down into her arms, our weights settling into the mattress together.
For a split second, the old fear of abandonment tries to poke its head into my thoughts, threatening to break my concentration.
But I shake my head against the darkness, driving the image out.
Pastor John’s voice echoes behind my mind, loud and absolute: For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
***
I press closer, my hands sliding up from her lower back to anchor her shoulders against the mattress.
"Look at me, Fred," she whispers, her breathing rough against my mouth.
I open my eyes, forcing myself to hold her gaze in the dim light of the bedroom.
There is no disgust in her green eyes—only a fierce desire that matches the pulse hammering in my own throat.
For three years, I kept myself locked behind an artificial schedule, but watching her expression soften drives the last of the hesitation from my mind.
I lean down, my lips finding the soft skin of her shoulders while my eyes stay locked on hers, filled with a deep adoration. I kiss her there, then trail my mouth upward to capture her lips once again, lengthening the contact until the room disappears.
I drop my chin, my mouth moving down to her chest. I press slow, lingering kisses to the smooth skin, following the slope down to the full swell of her breasts. A low growl tears from my chest, the raw admission ripping past my teeth as the proximity breaks my restraint.
"I've dreamt of kissing you everywhere," I whisper, my voice rough and breaking.
I lean over her, my mouth closing over the tight tips of her breasts.
I suck on her nipples, watching her eyelids flutter shut as a sharp, unguarded moan escapes her throat.
I kiss her everywhere—across the slope of her ribs, down the curve of her waist, and back up to the hollow of her throat—worshipping every inch of her skin until she is shaking beneath my palms.
I pull back just enough to look at her face, my chest rising and falling in fast, ragged breaths. My eyes track the flush on her cheeks, ensuring she sees the absolute focus in my gaze.
“The timetable is going to come down tonight,” I murmur, the words a vow to finally let go of the rigid structures that kept us apart.
A beautiful smile breaks across her face, her green eyes shining with warmth as a fresh tear slips toward her temple.
“I’ll love that,” she says, her voice thick with emotion as she reaches up to pull me back into another embrace.